


Flash Photography

by Vizkopa



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Like everyone flirts with Reader-chan, Nude Calendar Shoot, Nude Modeling, Reader-Insert, no this will not be continued, nude model!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11362860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizkopa/pseuds/Vizkopa
Summary: Your first day at work and you were already being tested, tempted to distraction.





	Flash Photography

It was your first day at your new job as an assistant photographer and you were a bundle of pure nerves and excitement. So far, you hadn’t been asked to do more than help set up the equipment and fetch coffee from the café down the street for the crew, but you didn’t let it dampen your spirits. The shoot was set to start very soon and though you hadn’t been told much about what was on the roster for the day beyond a high-end calendar shoot, the multitude of props and set pieces you had spied being brought in were sure to make for an interesting day indeed.

The first set has been made to look like the floor of a stable, hay bales and loose straw arranged meticulously to look as if it had fallen there naturally. You had only been at work for a little over an hour, but you had already learned that making things look natural and effortless in fact took a great amount of work—which somewhat defeated the purpose in your opinion. But you couldn’t deny, the set looked damn good. Almost as good as the model who had just walked out from the dressing room.

“Ah, here’s our Mr. January!”

You almost dropped the light fixture you were holding that was probably worth more than your car. ‘Mr. January’ turned out to be a young man with an abundance of freckles and a lopsided grin that, when turned in your direction, made your heart stop for a moment. You knew it was literally a requirement for models to be attractive, but _god_ how could anyone be _that_ handsome?

“Name’s Ace,” he said, offering his hand in greeting to everyone in the crew. 

A few had worked with him before and returned the greeting warmly, others were just as struck by his beauty as you were. When he finally reached you, you simply stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, before finally composing yourself enough to shake it. His eyes laughed at you from beneath dark, wavy bangs and you felt yourself blush.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked, still holding your hand.

“Y-yes.” You smiled sheepishly. You wished he would let go of your hand; you could feel yourself starting to sweat with nerves. “How could you tell?”

He shrugged. “You just have that look about ya.” He finally released you, flashing another of his winning smiles your way. “Well, time to get to work!”

It was only once he pulled away, immediately flocked by makeup artists trying to touch up his already flawless complexion, that you realised he was clad only in a silk robe and cowboy boots. Your mind scrambled for an explanation.

_Was this an underwear photoshoot?_

Oh, it was so much more than just an underwear shoot. And when you had walked into your first day of work an hour ago, there was nothing— _nothing_ —that could have prepared you for this. As Ace slipped the robe off his shoulders, his back turned to you, your fears were confirmed. You were either extremely lucky, or had somehow managed to piss of the universe because you had somehow gotten yourself into the midst of a nude calendar shoot. 

As you watched Ace position himself on the ‘stable’ floor from the corner of your eye, you decided it was probably the former. Being in the presence of that tight freckled ass would make anyone feel like they’d just won the lottery. And he was only Mr. January. There were at least ten other godly naked men in the vicinity at that very moment and you had no idea how you were supposed to get through the day without coming face to face with someone’s junk.

Speaking of junk, you were grateful that Ace had conspicuously covered his own with a flannel shirt because when you were called up by the photography director to adjust some lighting, that was immediately where your eyes went. You cursed them for betraying you.

Ace was splayed out on the floor amongst the hay, a plaid blanket laid out to protect him from the hay and cold ground. His sun-kissed abs were on full display, glistening under the bright floodlights and a cowboy hat was pulled down low over his eyes drawing all attention to that sexy, lopsided grin.

The photographer took a multitude of shots from various angles until he captured the perfect image, and then Ace was free to go, slipping back into that silk gown so that you could once again breath normally. He tipped his hat to you as he left, those brown eyes filled with laughter at your red-faced appearance, and then you were called away to help assemble the next set.

A bed was rolled in, draped in red silk sheets and scattered with loose red rose petals. The theme for February was ‘romance’ to coincide with Valentine’s Day and they could not have picked a better model for such an occasion. ‘Mr. February’—or Sanji as he introduced himself—was a complete gentleman, and handsome to boot. 

His slender, wiry body was the epitome of seduction splayed out on the bed, milk white skin contrasting with the deep red of the sheets. He clutched a single red rose to his chest, the sheets arranged artfully around his hips to conceal and tease, and his blue eyes glittered with untold promises from between strands of sleek, blond hair.

When he rose to leave, he kissed the hands of every woman in the room, thanking them profusely for their hard work. You couldn’t help but notice he held your hand the longest of all.

In preparation for the next model, the bed was stripped of its red silk and fitted with crisp white sheets. The theme for March was White Day and it would be a direct contrast to the previous month of passion and romance. Mr. March, known only as ‘Smoker’, was just as gorgeous as the previous models, though with an older, more masculine charm. Silver white hair tousled against stark white pillows, heavily muscled body sprawled out lazily amongst the sheets—you were certain you weren’t alone in wishing you could wake up to that scene every morning.

Between his fingers, he held a cigarette, the white smoke drifting lazily around his head and up toward the ceiling. You weren’t sure which was hotter—the blazing end of the cigarette or the smolder in his eyes when he turned his gaze toward the camera. You felt that gaze turn your way more than once as you moved in to adjust the lighting between shots.

All too soon, Smoker was wrapping himself back up in his robe and returning to the dressing rooms, uttering a gruff thank you as he made his leave. The bed was cleared off set and artificial grass was rolled out, scattered with daisies and dandelions awaiting the next model.

Another blond entered, the same easy, lopsided grin on his face that Ace had worn. You wondered absently if they were related somehow. Your suspicions were confirmed when Mr. April introduced himself as Sabo, Ace’s brother and suddenly your head was filled with thoughts of being sandwiched between the two and—

You shook your head, the heat rising in your cheeks again. Your first day at work and you were already being tested, tempted to distraction. The cute blonde in bunny ears winking playfully up at the camera was not exactly helping your focus.

It was going to be a long day.

The next prop to be pulled out was an ornate throne, dripping in gold and jewels and red crushed velvet cushions. The ‘May King’ was exactly the opposite of what you had been expecting though—slender and bouncy and naïve. He introduced himself cheerfully as Luffy, younger brother of Sabo and Ace, and suddenly you saw the resemblance in that easy grin.

Wide-eyed and excitable as he was, Luffy proved to be the perfect model however, throwing himself into the role with enthusiasm, his crown slightly askew and his lithe body reclined artfully in the chair with a confident, sexy smirk on his face. He refused to take the crown off when he was done, bidding farewell to his ‘loyal subjects’ as he strutted away back to the dressing rooms in the buff, leaving everyone in fits of giggles.

The laughter quickly faded when the next model walked out. Mr. June was the epitome of ‘tall, dark and handsome’, his sharp yellow gaze scrutinizing everyone in the room. You felt yourself shudder when those eyes fell on you, like a predator assessing his prey. You swallowed hard past the sudden lump that had risen in your throat. This man was the kind of handsome that awoke that primal, animal instinct inside you that made you want to twist your fingers in his long, dark mane and let yourself be devoured. 

Rob Lucci, so used to modelling expensive Italian designer suits, initially refused the cat ears that were offered to him, but once he adopted the persona, you swore you felt the temperature in the room rise by a few degrees. He owned the look, prowling toward the camera on his hands and knees while his yellow eyes bored into the lens. The effect was absolutely _sinful_ , but it would be nothing compared to Mr. July.

After a quick break for lunch—you couldn’t believe the day was already half gone—you returned to set to find the room had been transformed into a Mediterranean paradise, an ornate Italian chaise lounge the centerpiece. And then the model walked out and your jaw almost hit the floor.

Mr. July was built like a Greek _god_ , all rippling muscles and blond hair, he would tower over all the other models with ease. But what got you the most was the fact that he walked out without a thread of clothing, perfectly confident in his ability to make every woman in the room blush and every man look on with envy. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but the sexy smirk on his face told you he was enjoying the attention. You were so enraptured by the way he moved, you barely heard the words when he spoke.

“ _…do you want me?_ ”

_What?!_ It took you a long, embarrassing moment with your mouth hanging open to realise he wasn’t talking to you, but to the director.

“ _How do you want me?_ ”

You snapped your mouth shut and shook your head, willing away the blush that once again was threatening to overtake you. _Get your mind out of the gutter, [Name]!_

“On the couch, if you please, Doffy. Don’t forget to look seductive.”

Doffy snorted. “Please, I never forget.”

He laid himself out on the lounge, head resting on one hand while the other trailed absently down his bronzed chest, pausing with each flash of the camera. Your eyes followed the movement unwittingly, tracing the planes of his abs and the blonde happy trail beneath his navel until… You tore your eyes away. He hadn’t bothered to cover himself tastefully as the previous models had, his nakedness completely exposed and—though you had tried not to let your eyes linger long enough to notice—particularly well-endowed. 

He seemed to notice your determination to avoid looking at him because soon enough, you felt his eyes shift to you beneath his glasses and from the corner of your vision, you thought you saw his smirk widen. A long tongue darted out from between his teeth and, with his gaze fixed on you rather than the camera, he dragged it slowly, sensually, over his bottom lip. Your heart lurched painfully and your cheeks exploded with colour as you struggled not to drop the studio reflector you were holding. You hid your face behind it instead, waiting for the shoot to be over.

You could already tell these calendars were going to sell like hotcakes, but with the promise of a full-frontal shot? People would be lining up down the street. 

The set for Mr. August was arranged to look like a garage, tools scattered everywhere, a workbench as its centerpiece. Mr. August himself was tall and muscular with flaming red hair that contrasted prettily with his pale skin. A pair of welding goggles hung from his neck. You almost jumped when you were called forward to help prepare him for the shoot.

“You want me to _what_ , sorry?!”

The director sighed. “Rub this oil over him. Get creative, make it look like he’s been working hard.”

You took the bucket of grease and, still somewhat stunned, slowly approached the model. He smirked down at you as you hesitated before him.

“Grease me up, sweetheart,” he said with a grin, sliding the robe off his broad shoulders. You silently thanked whatever gods would listen that he kept it tied around his waist to preserve his modesty.

You scooped up a handful of the dark liquid and cautiously smeared it down his arms, purposefully giving his abdomen a wide berth until you could not possibly avoid it any longer. Your hand shook as you reached out to spread a streak of black across his abs.

He grunted, the muscles flexing under your fingers. “Cold hands,” he said. “Is that why you’re shaking, sweetheart, or do I just make you nervous?”

You opened your mouth to reply, scrambling desperately for a response, but before you could answer, he just laughed. 

“Don’t worry, doll, I’m just teasin’ ya.”

You finished the rest of your work in silence, cheeks blazing, and when you were done, you practically scurried off to wash your hands. You spent a few extra moments splashing cold water over your burning cheeks and by the time you returned, Mr. September was already taking his position upon a bed of fallen Autumn leaves.

Your entrance drew his gaze and he regarded you with a curious look for a moment before returning his attention to the director.

“You ready, Drake?”

“Always am.”

“Bring out the snake!”

The _what?!_

There was a round of gasps as a woman entered the set carrying an albino Burmese python. A few people backed away in fear, while others drew closer to get a better look. Drake sat up, a look of awe on his face as the reptile handler draped the snake around the model’s shoulders. He cradled its head carefully, fascinated by the way its tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air.

“She’s beautiful,” he said simply.

“Save that look for the camera, Drake. Let’s get to work.”

Drake laid back against the bed of leaves, the snake winding its way artfully around his limbs and over the tanned expanse of his skin. His ginger hair melded with the leaves, his blue eyes piercing amongst the oranges and yellows and reds. He was the very image of original sin—carnal, animal. _Primal_.

When the perfect shot had been captured, he handed the snake over to its handler somewhat reluctantly, and the stage was handed over to Mr. October.

If the previous models had been sinful, they were nothing compared to the man who walked out of that dressing room. With black ink tattoos and black eyeliner and black messy hair, Trafalgar Law wasn’t just sinful, he was sin _incarnate_.

They had him in a pair of blue surgical gloves and a stethoscope and nothing else, his tattoos on full display as he leaned casually back against the operating table. A slow, mischievous smirk spread across his face, grey eyes dancing with something wicked and daring as they turned to look into the camera lens. 

He took the edge of the glove between his teeth and tugged, sliding it ever so slowly over his hand, the letters inked on his knuckles revealed one by one to spell the word ‘death’. You had no doubt those fingers were more than capable of causing _la petite mort._

It was those very same fingers that brushed yours when you handed him back his robe, those fingers that sent the heat rushing back to your cheeks when his touch lingered just a moment too long. But it was those eyes that you’d remember—grey as a storm and as devastating as one too.

You had to take a moment to compose yourself once Law had returned to the dressing rooms. You fiddled with the lighting settlings and adjusted fixtures that didn’t need adjusting until, finally, your heart stopped its fluttering.

Mr. November was the last individual shoot left and at that point, you were pretty sure nothing could surprise you anymore, but your breath still hitched when he walked out of that dressing room. Dark eyes and tanned skin over perfectly sculpted muscles, and a confident, daring grin. And if that wasn’t enough to turn a few heads, his spring green hair and three glittering gold earrings in his left ear certainly were.

He introduced himself in a lazy, carefree manner as simply Zoro. He was directed to stand in a tub while water was showered down over him, soaking his hair and plastering it to his face, cascading down his broad shoulders and running through the valleys of his hips. He pushed the stray strands back from his forehead and turned his face into the water, closing his eyes in bliss, and let a trace of his previous grin enter his face. 

The effect was… dangerously sexy.

When Zoro’s shoot was over, you were exhausted. Eleven. Eleven gorgeous men had just walked into your life and left you ruined. And they were about to do it all over again.

The final shoot for the day was a group shot for the month of December—to end the year with a bang. The set had been cleared of all props and a great Christmas tree erected, decorated with shiny baubles and tinsel. And spread out beneath the tree, like gifts left scattered on a Christmas morning, were the models, bright red bows placed conveniently to tease and excite.

“ _Come and unwrap us._ ”

There was a round of applause as the director called a wrap to the shoot and the set was a flurry of movement as thanks and congratulations were passed around. Amongst the chaos, Ace found you, his eyes still filled with laughter.

“So,” he said, tying his silk robe closed. “How was your first day?”

“Overwhelming,” you admitted. “But I think I can safely say I have the best job in the world.”

Ace grinned widely. “I’m glad. I hope we get to work with each other again some time.”

“I look forward to it.” You smiled up at him, a hint of a blush tinging your cheeks.

He returned your smile warmly and turned to leave, but seemed to remember something and turned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, and keep an eye on your mailbox in a couple of months.”

He was lost to the crowd before you could ask him what he meant by that. 

A few weeks later, you were greeted one morning with a parcel. You opened it to find a copy of the calendar—with one marked difference from the ones being sold in stores. Scrawled over each of the individual photographs was a personalised note from each of the models and, you noted with a deep blush, their phone numbers.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a special oneshot written as a celebration piece to kick of my 2k Watchers event on DeviantART. Lots more surprises to come ;)


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